


incredibly lucky

by zhuzhubi



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Difficulty Conceiving, Discussion of Infertility, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Medical Inaccuracies, Pregnancy, Reid as a dad, season 9 era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25873006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi
Summary: It’s already dark out when Garcia calls, saying, “Chief Cruz and I are ten minutes away - you’re coming to Texas with us, get your things ready,” with none of the cheerful bubbly-ness that usually fills her to the brim.She won’t tell you what happened, you guess because she doesn’t want you to be alone when you hear it, but you know. You know because there’s no other reason that you’d need to go so urgently. 'At least the rush means he’s injured and not dead,' you think, 'if he was dead there’d be no reason to hurry'(But the rush also means they’re not sure he won’t be soon. Dead, that is)
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 123





	incredibly lucky

**Author's Note:**

> this is a request from my tumblr, @zhuzhubii !

You and Spencer have been trying for a baby practically since you got married. In the beginning you weren’t _actively trying_ , per se - you weren’t tracking your ovulation or having sex all the time or taking bi-monthly pregnancy tests or anything like that. Really, you’d just stopped using contraceptives. And so you didn’t worry when nothing came of it.

But then six months turned into a year turned into two, and still _no dice_. It was at that point that the active effort - the having sex because you were ovulating, not because you were in the mood - really started. 

Then, Spencer (being who he is) noticed the mild irregularity in your cycle once he’d started tracking it, and proceeded to worry incessantly about it. And after a few months of _still_ failing to conceive, he’d insisted on the both of you visiting a fertility clinic just to make sure things were okay 

(You’re not too concerned about it, yourself. Sometimes it just takes time, and him being gone fairly frequently for his job certainly isn’t helping in that department. But you know him, and know that he’ll just _worry and worry and worry_ until he gets a definitive answer - and stress and worrying aren’t known for being especially helpful towards baby-making, so off to the doctor’s it is)

Your testing takes longer and is much more involved than his is

(although it takes him a _hot minute_ to ‘get the job done,’ so to speak, at the clinic. You imagine he’s caught up in thinking about how he has to ejaculate into a plastic cup, and how everyone knows exactly what he’s doing in there - once you get home he frets over how his nervousness and self-consciousness negatively impacted his ability to maintain an erection, much less bring himself to orgasm. 

Some of the tests are pretty invasive, but _hey_ , the doctors and nurses are all nice, and they keep it professional. You didn’t have to masturbate in a semi-public place, so at least there’s that)

but it’s worth it for his peace of mind. _Yes_ he’s still worried about the results, but getting started on the testing has definitely helped settle him 

(and gotten him _in the mood_ , apparently, so you decide it’s overall not too bad)

…

When you go in for the results, you can immediately tell that they aren’t the reassurance that _everything is fine_ you were expecting. The clinician has you both sit down before she gives you the news, her face purposefully neutral 

(you think Spencer’s trained eye can see something in her body language that you can’t, because he tenses beside you as soon as she starts flipping through your charts)

She starts with you, and you’re confused when she says, “we found no issues with your egg cells or your ovulation cycle - a slight variance is completely normal and shouldn’t cause any issues fertility-wise.” 

You’re not a profiler, but you can usually get a pretty good read on people, and you were _so sure_ they’d found some issue.

It turns out they did. Because the next thing she does is take a deep breath and say, “Dr. Reid, we discovered that your sperm-count is reduced enough to be considered ‘low,’ but I also want to emphasize that we found no deformities or issues with motility - the spermatocytes that you _do_ produce are, as far as we can tell, completely viable.”

You know that it’s actually pretty common for it to be the male - it’s at least a contributing factor in an estimated forty percent of cases - but it honestly hadn’t even crossed your mind. It’s so much more common to hear about female infertility that you thought, if anyone, it’d be you.

He’s buried in his thoughts and you know it’s unlikely he’ll break the now-awkward silence, so you do, “Okay, what does that mean for us?”

She give you a placating smile and says, “Well, since there are no issues with the spermatocytes themselves, it’s likely you’ll still be able to conceive without any kind of intervention - “

Spencer interrupts her, “Did I do this to myself?”

Your brow furrows in confusion, and you start to say, “Spencer, no, that’s not true at all,” before realizing that he wasn’t talking to you. He’s looking directly at the doctor, his face completely blank. Just as she asks, “What do you mean?” it hits you what he’s referring to.

(you wonder if it’s what he’s been worried about all along - if it’s why he insisted upon getting tested even though you two aren’t in a rush to get pregnant)

“I - “ he starts, then cuts himself off. You reach over and soothe a hand over his thigh, and he continues, fixing his gaze on his hands as they twist together in his lap, “I used to…it’s not in my medical records because I never got treatment, but I have a history of narcotics abuse. I’m clean now, but, um, do you think…?”

She resettles herself in her chair, leaning forward and trying to catch his eye. You nudge Spencer until he looks up, encouraging him to make eye-contact. The doctor makes sure he’s listening, then speaks, “Dr. Reid, what do you have your degree in?”

“Um,” he falters, “M - mathematics, chemistry, and engineering - what does that have to do with this?”

“Then you’re a scientist, yes?” she continues.

Spencer just nods, his eyebrows creasing together as he tries to deduce where she’s going with this.

“Then you know that I can’t tell you anything for sure - everything I’ve said today is based on years and years worth of evidence and scientific study, but there’s still a margin of error. I can’t tell you with one hundred percent certainty that past opiate abuse has nothing to do with this. 

But I can say that, from what we’ve observed in the field, most fertility issues caused by drug use - illicit or prescription - resolve relatively soon after the body is cleared of the substance. It’s much more likely that the issue is congenital. And even so, I’m very hopeful that if you and your wife keep trying like you have been, you’ll be able to conceive - it’ll likely take time, but, as I said, I’m hopeful that you’ll have success.”

It’s the best possible thing she could have said - appealing to his logical reasoning - and you’re grateful for it. It reassures him more than just repeating it’s not your fault ever could have.

You make a joint decision to wait and see - the clinician mentioned hormone treatment as a possibility (though they’d need to do more extensive testing first) but you’re both patient people and don’t mind if a baby doesn’t happen quite yet. 

…

He’s away when you find out - somewhere in Texas on a case that you know is a tough one, if the sparse texts are anything to go off of - and you immediately start planning out how you’re going to surprise him once he gets home.

You run, giddy, to the store to buy a cute little onesie _(it’s so little, oh my god!_ ) and a nondescript box to put it in ( _because it needs to be a surprise_!)

Once you return home, you start to worry because you can’t help but feel like there must be some kind of a catch - after trying for so long it’s hard not to feel like that, like maybe you’re not actually pregnant and you just hoped for it so much that you imagined a positive test (you took three so you’re pretty sure, but still) - so you schedule a visit with your GP for as soon as they can take you.

It’s already dark out when Garcia calls, saying, “Chief Cruz and I are ten minutes away - you’re coming to Texas with us, get your things ready,” with none of the cheerful bubbly-ness that usually fills her to the brim. 

She won’t tell you what happened, you guess because she doesn’t want you to be alone when you hear it, but you _know_. You _know_ because there’s no other reason that you’d need to go so urgently. _At least the rush means he’s injured and not dead,_ you think, _if he was dead there’d be no reason to hurry_

( _but the rush also means they’re not sure he_ won’t be _, soon_ , you think, _dead that is_ )

You ride the plane in a daze, let Garcia and Cruz lead you into the car, then into the hospital without saying anything. 

You’re so afraid for Spencer’s life that being pregnant, and what it means, completely slips your mind until you’re walking into the waiting room and overhearing JJ say, “can you imagine Spence as a dad?” just as you turn the corner, and it hits you

( _this is the catch_ )

Your knees buckle and you’re about to fall to the floor when Cruz catches you by the arm and holds you steady. He guides you to sit, then steps aside to let the three women - whom you’re much more familiar with - come to your side instead. 

“What if…,” you practically whisper. They all think they know what you’re going to say 

( _what if he dies?_ )

And start with the reassurances - _Spence is strong, he’ll pull through_ and _you’ll be back in Boy Genius’ arms in no time, just you wait!_

\- but you start shaking your head because _no_ that’s not what you meant. Your voice is shaking as you force it out, still so soft you’re sure they can barely hear you.

“What if I never get to tell him?”

They’re confused, of course they are. JJ leans in to catch your attention, makes sure you’re listening, and asks, “Tell him what?”

You just look down at your still-flat belly - at where the little clump of cells that will one day be a baby resides. JJ sucks in a breath of air (and so does Alex, a little further away), and you know she’s figured it out even though you can’t see her face. 

And then you’re crying because the nurses won’t tell you anything, and JJ and Alex won’t tell you anything either (which you know means he was in rough shape when they brought him in)

_He can’t die without knowing he’s gonna be a dad, he just can’t!_

You realize you’ve said it out loud when JJ wraps her arms around you and soothes her hands over your back, whispering, “He won’t, he won’t, he won’t,” trying to convince herself as much as you.

He’s wanted this for so long, and you could tell he was getting more and more afraid it would never happen as months passed with no success. It feels like the universe is pointing at you and laughing, taunting _alright, you win. Have your baby. But_ daddy _will never know about them, so HA! take that._

…

JJ and Garcia get called away to work the case, but Alex stays and waits with you. She feels guilty about something, you can tell, but it takes her a while to get it out.

“He pushed me out of the way,” is what she says, staring straight forward at the white hospital walls.

You’re angry for a moment - at her for being _here_ while Spencer might be dying. At _him_ for sacrificing himself, knowing you were waiting for him to come home. But Alex is married, too, and you know Spencer would never forgive himself if she died and he could’ve saved her, but didn’t. You can’t be mad at him for trying to do the right thing

(You wonder, fleetingly, what he would have done if he knew about the baby, but force the thought out of your mind)

“You’re not the one that shot him,” is what you end up saying, “it’s not your fault.” You mean it.

She’s grateful to hear it from you, you see it when the tiniest bit of tension drops out of her shoulders. 

When the surgeon comes in and says, “incredibly lucky,” you want to hug him. Not because you think it’s true - he’s alive and is expected to make a full recovery, but this doesn’t feel _lucky_ at all - but because you know it means _he’s okay_. 

The doctor leads you down the hall and into his room and Spencer’s still sleeping. But you can see his chest rising steadily up and down and up and down and you rush over to him. His hand is a little cold, but he’s _right here_ in front of you and he’s definitely alive, and you’re so relieved. 

Garcia comes back a little later and lines up figurines on his tray-table, trying to bring a little lightness to the dark like she always does. His eyes don’t flutter open until after Alex has to take her leave, at least for the time being. 

He groggy from the anesthesia and he starts leaning his face towards yours. You realize in his disorientation he must’ve assumed he’s at home: the first thing he does when he wakes up in the morning is give you a kiss - just a little one - at least when he’s home. It’s so adorable that you start laughing, then laughing harder when he pouts, confused as to why you’ve denied him his kiss. 

You glance over to Garcia - whose cheeks are puffed out in her attempt to hold in her laughter - which prompts him to look over too. His face immediately flushes, and he realizes he’s definitely _not at home_ \- he’s still a little loopy, but it seems like he recalls at least some of what happened. 

You know he might not remember it later, but you’re _so happy_ he’s alive and you just _cannot_ wait any longer - you brush a hand across his cheek and softly mutter, “You’re gonna be a dad, Dr. Reid,” with a grin.

His face absolutely lights up and he gasps, lurching forward to try and hug you, not at all mindful of his injury. You chuckle and gently push him back down into bed, leaning down into his embrace instead. He smiles against your neck and palms your midsection, his breath hitching with joyful laughter.

You’ll never forget this moment, even if he does. You think _it won’t be bad at all if he forgets - after all, it’ll just mean I’ll get to have this moment twice._

…

(The next few hours are absolute hell:

Spencer falls back asleep and Garcia goes to get water. But then she’s rushing back in, looking at you with wild eyes, and saying, “I’ll explain later, but we have to get Spencer into that wheelchair _right now_.”

It turns out to be a case of dirty cops. Dirty cops who want your husband - and the rest of his team - dead. You bat a syringe out of the hand of a ‘nurse’ who’s about to inject him with something that’ll kill him, and Garcia has to shoot him. She’s scared and upset and horrified at what she’s done, but then Spencer says, “You saved my life,” and you press her hand to your stomach, and she feels better. 

Your husband, the father of your unborn child, was just almost killed for the _second time_ in the past twenty-four hours, and you’ve never been so grateful that someone got shot. You don’t know if you’ll _ever_ be able to stop thanking her)

…

Spencer signs himself out AMA - they wanted to observe him a little longer, just to be safe - and you find that you’re not upset at all (and this has happened before - he has a tendency to think he’s fine when he’s really not). You’re just as desperate to get out of this town as he is.

You end up on the BAU’s jet, Spencer resting his head on your lap and you brushing your fingers through his hair. He’s surprisingly calm for someone who’s just recently found out his wife is pregnant - especially after trying for so long - and you remember that the lingering anesthesia might have made him forget.

He’s dozing lightly, so you poke him awake and ask, “Do you remember what I told you earlier?” as he blinks up at you with bleary eyes.

His brows scrunch together as he tries to recall what you could possibly be referring to, his lips coming together in a little pout, and _yep, he definitely doesn’t remember._

You’re sure the rest of his team already knows by now - Garcia’s bad at keeping secrets - so you’re not concerned with them overhearing (and they’ve definitely got their ears open, even if they’re trying to hide it) - you’d have preferred to keep it between you and Spencer for a little while at least, but _oh well_. It’s a little late for that.

“You’re gonna be a dad, Dr. Reid,” you repeat with a smile, taking in his joy - the way his eyes light up and his face bursts into a huge grin - a second time. 

He’s already eye level with your stomach and he looks at it in wonder, no doubt trying to figure out how far along you are and thinking through all the stages of fetal development. He presses his face into your midsection and gives it a kiss before hefting himself up (stiffly - he’s just has surgery and refused any major pain medication) and giving one to you, brushing your cheek with his as he mutters, “I love you, _both_ of you,” his lips somehow pulling even further into a smile. 

The last two days have claimed some of the best and worst moments of your life, but it all led to _this_. To your husband leaning into your side and settling his palm over your belly, smiling over the baby he was afraid he’d never have. 

You place a hand over his and whisper, “I love you,” right back. 


End file.
